


Card Eating

by happyisahabit



Series: Starlight Collection [7]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Divorce, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Fortune Telling, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Screw Destiny, Smoking, Tarot, minor appearance by Crona and others, the romance aspect is so minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 20:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyisahabit/pseuds/happyisahabit
Summary: The stall Spirit takes Black Star and Maka to is on the outskirts of the fairgrounds. The purple fabric of the tent is freckled with half moons and pointed stars in a faded gold. It flaps in the wind to match the tinkling of the chimes hanging from the sign that reads, in yellow-gold lettering, “THE CARD EATER.”As they reach the entrance of the tent, a voice wafts out, dreamy and tinged with heavy incense, “Hello, King of Hearts, welcome back to my humble stand.”//Reverb 2018





	Card Eating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soundofez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/gifts).



The festival lights glow happily, spaced out on strings criss-crossing the fairgrounds just outside Death City. Tents are scattered around, vaguely lined up in rows. People mill about, going over the wares of each vendor, testing out fair games, and laughing. A tall, red-haired man leads a little girl with ash blonde pigtails. A short boy with dirt smudged on his face is with them, alternating between running ahead and falling behind to look at the stalls.

“Black Star, quit that! Stay with us or Sid’s gonna have my head…” Spirit whines. 

Maka tugs on his hand. “Papa, can’t I go with Star and get some cotton candy?”

“Maka, honey, we’ll get some cotton candy and whatever you want, but first let’s go to this really great stall. I think you’re both going to like it.”

He swings her hand back and forth a little, but Maka just huffs. She reaches out and snags the back of Black Star’s tank top, yanking him back towards her and Spirit. He jostles her playfully until she grabs his hand, dragging him with her and her father. Black Star grins at her, a tooth newly missing.

The stall Spirit takes them to is on the outskirts of the fairgrounds. The purple fabric of the tent is freckled with half moons and pointed stars in a faded gold. It flaps in the wind to match the tinkling of the chimes hanging from the sign that reads, in yellow-gold lettering, “THE CARD EATER.”

As they reach the entrance of the tent, a voice wafts out, dreamy and tinged with heavy incense, “Hello, King of Hearts, welcome back to my humble stand.”

Spirit titters to himself at the title. Maka and Black Star just roll their eyes. The ‘Card Eater’ just smiles indulgently, pulling a deck of playing cards from the folds of their long sleeves. The cards are ornate, beautiful and original compared to an average deck, but Maka only sees the usual suits and numbers that adorn the faces of the cards when the fortune teller bridges and shuffles the deck.

In short, it is just an ordinary playing deck. What’s so special about that?

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be stopping by. It has been quite a few years since I last read for you, but this time, I’m not sure if you will want to listen…”

“Oh, I’m sure I would. Why else would I come out here?” he asks, a bit unnerved by the fortune teller. His palms start to sweat.

“If you insist…” The Card Eater has Spirit hold his hand over the deck, making idle chit-chat and asking about Maka and Black Star. They lay out the cards in an array, and Spirit taps out the number of cards the teller asks him to, picking them out on his own. When only four are left, the Card Eater tells him to put them in order. “Are you ready?”

Spirit gulps, smiling nervously down at the kids. Maka pulls her hand out of his sweaty grasp and crosses her arms. Black Star glances back from his inspection of the various chimes and jewel-colored glass ornaments hanging in the tent. “Y-yeah, of course.”

The teller turns over the first card. “Ah, of course. Your card: the King of Hearts. However… it is reversed.” The Card Eater raises their eyebrows, casting an exasperated look at him. “Overindulgent, were we?”

Spirit pulls at his collar, laughing weakly. “Well, I-”

The Card Eater flips the next card, tutting. “Ten of clubs, some unexpected bad news… Hmm, the next card, secrecy and change in the six of diamonds.” Spirit starts looking green around the gills. “Oh my.”

The last card is the four of spades.

“It’s-”

“I know what it is,” Spirit interrupts. He slams money down on the small table, nearly knocking one of the candles over. Just as suddenly, he is sprinting back to the main grounds, dodging people left and right. Maka and Black Star are left in his dust, the chimes clinking around them.

“What horrid luck…” the Card Eater says regretfully, twirling the four of spades between long fingers. Their other hand pulls the bills off the table, stuffing them inside their sleeves. Far too much money for saying essentially nothing, Maka thinks. Her eyes narrow.

Black Star scoffs, “How can that guy call himself the Deathscythe and run away from a playing card, huh?”

“Papa isn’t scared!” She holds back from saying anything else, though. He  _ had _ run from a few regular playing cards and some quacky person ‘interpreting’ them.

“You sure, Mak? Ran pretty quick though.”

“Hmm…” Maka huffs, before turning to the Card Eater who is shuffling the deck back together. “What was that card anyway?”

The fortune teller looks a bit forlorn for a moment before handing Maka the deck. “You’ll find out soon enough… Cut the deck for me?”

Maka takes half, and the teller gives the other half to Black Star. They have the pair shuffle, recut, and swap halves with each other again. 

“This is silly; is this really going to tell the future?”

“Not quite the future, dears, but your fortunes. It explains the past, the now, and the future, mutable though they are.”

“Mutable?”

The Card Eater taps Maka on the nose. “Mutable, as in ever changing. Depending on what you are thinking of and how you feel at the time, your fortune reading can be affected.” They take the split decks from Maka and Black Star and set them on their small table. “Now, let’s see about you two, shall we?”

“I can’t believe any…  _ card  _ is gonna read my future. I’m going to make that myself!” Black Star crows. Maka nods in fervent agreement.

The Card Eater’s smile is sly as they lay out an array of cards each for them. “Pick up whichever card speaks to you then. For your past.”

Maka’s is the ace of clubs and Black Star’s is the seven of clubs. “Balance. A life kept in check and even-keeled. Deception. Hidden figures working in the shadows.”

Their next cards for the present: “six of spades for times of great influence, possible loss... “ and “ace of diamonds for great ambition” for Maka and Black Star respectively.

The final cards for the future: Black Star’s “four of hearts for found family” and Maka’s “ten of hearts, reversed though, how interesting…”

The Card Eater taps the reversed card, thoughtful. “Usually, that’s unexpected good news, but…” they look between the children, comprehension coming through. They light another stick of incense. “Well, reversed it is, so we’ll just have to wait and see, shall we?”

-

Maka puts the Card Eater behind her, as the seemingly useless information doesn’t warrant space in her growing brain, at least not with all the other things that have been happening. She doesn’t even think about it until a month later, when she goes downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night. Her father sits at the small kitchen table, big enough for three, but there are only two chairs there now.

Spirit is slumped in one, lit by the glowing of the oven and microwave clocks and the cackling moon shining through the window over the sink. There’s a few bottles lining the edge of the table, open. The ashtray that had always been kept on the windowsill to let the smoke billow outside instead of fester in the small room is now at Spirit’s elbow. A lone wisp of smoke curls up from the glowing butt. 

Maka clenches her tiny fists into her nightgown as she watches him. She wants to cry, but promised she wouldn’t. Spirit doesn’t notice her, slowly shuffling something in his hands. When she looks closer she sees him deal out playing cards. However, he isn’t playing solitaire.

He lays them out on the tabletop in the array Maka saw the fortune teller use, and the sight of it twists something in her gut. Everything had gone downhill since that encounter. Papa ran off after getting his fortune told. Then, that night, Maka had heard them arguing. Each night, they got louder and louder, always forgetting to keep their voices down until Mama slammed the door to their home. She would leave for longer and longer stretches of time until, later that week, Mama had packed all her things and left before dawn for the last time.

It hurts that Mama left, but Spirit had to have been the cause. He got his fortune told and suddenly Maka’s whole world is thrown out of alignment. That stupid ‘Card Eater’ was the root of it all, along with their so-called magic cards.  Maka still didn’t believe that the cards really held any power, and she doubted that his own drunken self-reading was worth a dime, but his adamant belief in what they said was a good enough thing to blame. After all, if he believed something bad was happening because of a playing card, then hadn’t he himself caused it?

Mama is gone now, and it’s all Papa’s fault.

-

Years later, Black Star sulks as he walks through the fairgrounds. Everyone is injured or upset lately, so there isn’t anyone to hang out with. It makes him want to tear down some of the twinkling strings of light and drain at least one of the stands of all of their prizes using his skills as a meister.  Yet, he knows that wouldn’t be satisfying. He’s supposed to be here with his friends, to be here with Tsubaki and Soul. To be here with Maka.

Tsubaki had caught a cold, though. Not to mention that Soul, too, is still bedridden from whatever it was that had happened in Italy. The whole situation still rubs him the wrong way, and he can feel the anger at the attacker festering just beneath his skin. Hence, the need to decimate some carnival games in an effort to blow off steam.

Worst of all is the anger at himself for not being there for his friends.

The image of Maka, sitting on her knees outside Soul’s hospital room, is burned into his retinas. Black Star couldn’t see her eyes, but he didn’t need to see them to know that the slightly shiny flush on her face was from crying, from frustration and disappointment in herself. He didn’t need to see the whiteness of her knuckles as she dug fingernails into the flesh above her knees or the slight tremor in her shoulders. 

He had left without engaging her, had known that she wouldn’t want to be seen crying if she could help it, but he still feels like he failed to be a good friend. So Black Star ambles through the fair, hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets, until the twinkling of the carnival lights becomes sparse. A purple and gold patterned tent flap floats in the desert breeze ahead, and Black Star stops to watch it.

He steps forward. The familiar incense brings back the childhood memories, and the chimes reverberate in his ears as a voice carries out from the tent of the Card Eater.

“Ah, I was wondering when I’d see you again, dear boy.”

“Just wandered here, really…” he says, taking the seat on the small stool offered to him. Candles of various lengths drip and flicker around him.

“That’s the way of things,” they reply, casually shuffling the same deck of cards he remembers from before. “Perhaps you’re looking for an answer?”

Black Star hums, his anger deflated by the sweet incense and the accompanying rush of young memories. “Dunno. Sure. I guess.” He drops a couple coins on the table that disappear under a hand riddled with rings and bracelets clinking together.

The Card Eater looks indulgently at him, fanning the deck on the table in front of him. “Go ahead and think about it and then draw a card. No need to tell me the question.”

He stares at the edges of the cards, royal purple and gold, worn on the corners but otherwise pristine. He can’t really think of anything, but he reaches out for a card anyway. His hand hesitates over the deck, and for a split second he sees Maka, punishing herself, crying alone in the hallway. Only when the fortune teller takes the card from his slack fingers does Black Star blink away the memory.

Tutting, the Card Eater stares at the card. “Great misfortune.” They offer no further advice and Black Star does not elaborate on what he had thought before drawing it. The Card Eater pats his hand twice and reshuffles the deck. Black Star gets up and leaves, inwardly vowing to be there for Maka, for all their friends.

-

Being confined to bed is the absolute worst, Maka decides. It had certainly been terrible to have Arachne and Giriko steal her ability to move, but somehow having only  _ some _ of her motor skills back makes her itch even worse to get out of bed. She’s burned through most of the books in her collection and on her to-read list that she asked Tsubaki to retrieve from the school library. As a last resort, she had asked Blair to bring something,  _ anything _ that might be a reprieve from her boredom, preferably in book form.

And so a copy of  _ Fortune Telling 101  _ lays across her lap. Maka growls a little, irritated.

Blair blinks up at her innocuously. Maka sighs. “Really? This is what you bring me? You know this is all codswallop, right?”

The little black cat just stretches, toe beans kneading into her legs through the thin hospital blanket. She grins toothily beneath the brim of her witch hat. “You might find it fun. Or informational.”

Maka just frowns and stares down at the book. Blair paws open the cover and flips to the introduction. Despite herself, Maka’s eyes travel across the page and Blair hums, turning them lazily. Over the past few weeks of recovery, Blair had memorized her reading speed. Maka appreciates the help immensely, even if it had rubbed her the wrong way to need help for anything at the beginning. So Blair turns pages and offers her own commentary on the contents as Maka reads and absorbs, wanting nothing more than to be able to get out of bed and away from anything to do with tarot cards.

-

“Mama’s ring?”

“Yeah, she would have wanted you to have it.”

Maka hums, fingering the edges of the smooth band. Something about receiving it feels hollow. It has been at least six years since Mama had been in Death City, since she’d seen her own daughter. Maka looks up at Spirit, his profile lit by the lowering sun. He scratches behind his head nervously and avoids eye contact, even as his gaze flickers between to her face and hands. He fumbles through his pockets for a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. The silence continues, and Maka distracts herself by slipping the tiny piece of cheap jewelry on her finger. 

When she looks back up, Spirit has a deck of playing cards in hand. He shuffles it absently as he breathes through the deathstick, exhaling small spirals of smoke. He offers her the deck and her face scrunches up.

“C’mon, Maka, humor your old man?” There’s a tone in that sentence that grates at her, that reminds her of why they were even meeting. He is going to the Moon tomorrow. He may not come back. Mama hadn’t even gone to the Moon, and she hasn’t come back, either. The grating in her ears moves to her heart, and she plucks half the deck up and away, cutting it. Spirit pulls the card on top of his portion: the reversed ten of clubs.

It has been a year and a half, but Maka still remembers most of the meanings of these silly cards she once read while confined to bed.  _ Loss of a dear friend _ , it says. She knows the meaning, but she can’t quite recall if the card pulled is meant for her or for her father. The rules were fuzzy about being the one to cut the deck or the one to flip the card or even what the intentions of the participants were.

Either way, Spirit seems to flag at the face of the card, sagging and suddenly looking ten years older and sallow. The cigarette falls from his mouth, dripping ash onto the edge of his suit jacket. Gently, he places the card and the half-deck in her hands, squeezing firmly. His face ghosts near the crown of her head as though he was going to kiss her, but had decided against it. He lets go, walking away.

Maka’s lips form a tight line, repressing any parting words about the ridiculousness of these cards and the depth of Spirit’s faith in them. He could believe in these cards, but not himself, not her, not their family? He could believe in what the ‘fates’ offered but not what he could make himself? She slams the halves of the deck together, messily shuffling them, hoping to never see the ten of clubs again, reversed or not. In spite of herself, she splits the deck only to find herself staring at the jack of hearts, reversed.

“Overwhelmed by Madness? We’ll see about that!”

She whips the cards off the balcony, watching with some satisfaction as they flutter in the wind like the useless scraps of cardstock they were. Now if only she could get herself to believe they truly didn’t have worth.

-

The last dredges of sunlight are slipping below the horizon when Black Star leaves Shibusen. His hands are in his pockets and his face is sunk into a heavy frown, recalling the denial he received from Lord Death. He wanted badly to go to the Moon and to fight, but he’d been rejected readily. He stops in the center of the courtyard, scuffing his shoe at the repaired cracks from his fight with Kid.

“I’M GOING TO KICK THE KISHIN’S ASS ANYWAY!” he screams into the growing twilight. “I WILL B- hah?” His proclamations are curbed when something flutters into his face, sticking to the light sheen of sweat produced by the desert air. Angrily, he peels it off, only to see that dozens of playing cards are spinning to the ground around him. He looks at the one in his hand, the ten of hearts. It strikes him as familiar somehow. Didn’t that Card Gobbler say something about unexpected news? Maybe good news? Or was it something else…

He doesn’t really know, so he looks up to see if he can find the deck’s owner, but the twilight has broken into night. Black Star hums to himself a little and shrugs. He tucks the ten of hearts into his pocket and starts the long walk home. He’d definitely make it to the battle on the Moon.

-

Every moment of the battle presses in on Maka from all sides. Constant motion keeps the feeling of helplessness at bay. It had only gotten worse once she sensed Crona. A twister of bloody thorns rips towards her and she barely escapes. The look in Crona’s eyes is blank and twisted.

_ Loss of a dear friend. _

No, she can’t think that way. Even as Soul’s weapon form sizzles in her hand, wrenched away by horrorshow vines, she has to have faith. Black Star stands before her, blocking barrage after barrage. He’s taking damage, protecting her, and what is  _ she  _ doing?

_ Loss of a dear friend. _

No, no, no,  _ nonono. _ Maka grits her teeth and pushes forward when her father appears, no burn in her hands, just a familiar buzz that is so like her own soul it is a wonder she never noticed before. 

_ Overwhelmed by Madness. _

Maka sweats as she whips the Demon Hunter through the air. The heavier weight lands a harsher impact when it collides on the film of Black Blood on Crona’s skin. The meanings of the tarot cards flash incessantly behind her eyes, madness, loss, fear… She stomps them down, adjusting her grip and aligning her soul with her father’s. He may believe in fortune telling, one among many of his faults and ridiculousness, but he also believes in her.

So Maka puts faith in herself, her father, Black Star, Soul, and Tsubaki. Her soul unwraps its full wingspan, manifesting in familial resonance.

-

His arm throbs and his back is beyond pain. Black Star has the Kishin in a chokehold, Kid wrapped around the monstrosity’s legs. His brain is not processing images quickly enough, and he has been moving on instinct and willpower alone. There is a split second where he looks up, blood dripping into one eye, and makes contact with blazing green. Maka stares back for that moment, and then the tip of Soul’s newly minted keyboard blade slips into the Kishin’s chest. Maka follows.

He had thought there was nothing more frightening than watching her die. The arm sticking clear out the opposite side of her body was grotesque and made bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t think of a thing he wanted to see less, until she had disappeared.

Black Star tightens his grip on the Kishin, resisting the urge to try and follow Maka, to pull out the card he had thought was a good omen. It burns a hole in his pocket, and he knows it is stupid to focus on, but it keeps him from counting the seconds that Soul and Maka have been gone. His mind flies back to the events after grabbing the cardstock out of the air: tracking Crona, flying to the moon, sending everyone else home. He can almost feel the rebound of Crona’s third blade zip up his arm again, the memory is so vivid and fresh. The gargantuan blood drill that he ripped from its course towards Maka.  _ You must like me _ , she’d teased. He’d barely gotten in a good retort.

Now he just wants the chance to get back at her.

He’s sure he’s got gray hair growing by the time Maka emerges, long moments and rapid heartbeats misaligned. His relief is palpable at her return. As the Kishin is taken over by Crona and the Black Blood washes over the moon, Black Star holds Maka back from her father. She’s crying, and he hates that she’s doing it so openly. Black Star crushes her into a one-armed hug, probably hurting his injured spine more, but he can’t bring himself to care if he can offer her this small comfort. She turns and tucks her face into his shoulder.

Her grip on his shirt is tenuous, but remains as they do their best floating equivalent of a limp back to earth. Maka doesn’t let go until she sees Spirit, battered but whole, before her. As they embrace, Black Star pulls out the ten of hearts, charred and ripped. When his legs finally give out beneath him, Tsubaki is running for Kim, Nygus, anyone, and Soul crouches over him, checking his pulse and trying not to move him.

He musters the strength to tuck the card back into his pocket as Maka suddenly appears, hovering. The pain he’d held at bay for those hours finally hits him full force. He lets it consume him into unconsciousness.

-

Maka has to wonder if faith in herself and faith in fate are really that different. The past weeks have certainly given her the time for reflection. Her recuperation is nearly done, but she still has a year-long ban from duty for physical therapy and psychological evaluation. At least, she thinks and immediately regrets, she has a shorter time to go than Black Star. He’s glowering in his chair, wheeled out by a nurse. He still has an arm in a sling because, despite Kim’s magic, the tenderness of an entirely crumpled arm and shoulder has taken its toll. Not to mention the long and painful recovery he still has to go through to be able to walk again.

Truly it was a miracle that he would have the opportunity after he so thoroughly overdid it, fighting with a crushed spine and arm. With the black fire he’d been subjected to, it was a medical wonder he wasn’t dead outright. But Black Star is Black Star, she thinks as she pacifies him with some contraband snacks not allowed in the hospital and takes the handles of his chair.

“Awww yisss…. Mother fuckin’ flaming cheetos!” he cackles gleefully. He turns as much as he can to yell over his shoulder. “Suck on THAT, Orderly Timmons!” 

“You know, it’s a wonder that you’re alive at all, what with the crap you put in your body,” Maka mutters, steering him away. His head falls back over the edge of the chair, hair brushing against her stomach. Blue eyes, full of mirth, twinkle up at her.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t eat spicy things.”

Maka flushes and pushes his head back forward roughly. “What do you want to do at the festival? You’re kinda broken right now, so most games are out.”

“Changing the subject? You coward-”

“Or maybe you can play games that utilize that motor-mouth of yours…”

Black Star catches his wheel with his good hand, braking himself and causing Maka to smack into the back of the wheelchair. He looks up at her again and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “I’m sure I could think of a few ways to ‘utilize my motor-mouth’...”

Again, she pushes his face away. “You’re so gross.”

“You like it.”

She chooses not to respond as they arrive at the fairgrounds. They chat more as they pass between stalls, mostly sticking to food stands and the street performers. Black Star does try a game using his non-dominant hand and his teeth, popping a balloon with the toy slingshot. He looks so ridiculous and yet so proud that Maka wishes she had a camera. She wins a few games herself, but it isn’t as fun without Black Star to compete against.

They roll in companionable silence for a bit, taking in the flickering lights strung overhead and the sound of children running around, high on sugar. The pair grabs some more snacks, piling them into Black Star’s lap before slotting into the space between a set of stands where they can rest and still people-watch.

“So you made up with your dad?”

“Hmm, yeah, I guess. I still think he’s lewd, though.”

“That’s never going to change,” Black Star snorts. “But…”

Maka looks at him from the corner of her eye as he tugs the wrapper off some sweets with his teeth. “‘But’ what?”

“He’s your dad.” He smirks a bit to himself before meeting her eye. She just knows whatever he says next is going to get under her skin. “And you hugged.. For like ten minutes.”

“Urgh, Star! That was- I mean he-” she sputters, nearly falling out of the seat she’s made of some storage boxes for the stand they’re hiding near’s wares. Black Star stays quiet and she can’t look at him. “He didn’t… I mean, he came back.” There’s no sound to her side, no wrapper crinkling nor muttered remark. “He… Papa  _ came back _ .”

A hand tugs on one of her pigtails lightly. Black Star says quietly, “We did, too.” There’s an unspoken part of that sentence that Maka feels in her bones;  _ we _ came back, but not  _ we all _ came back. Everything in her tightens as she thinks about Crona and how she had to leave them behind, but the fingers tangled in her hair tug again. Maka finds herself curled awkwardly over the armrest of the wheelchair, face tucked into Black Star’s shoulder. She isn’t quite crying and he isn’t quite rubbing her back and neck with his good hand, but it works. She feels solidarity there, in his attempt at comfort.

Eventually, they part, avoiding the other’s eyes as light blushes rise in their cheeks. Black Star adjusts his sling and coughs. “Let’s get outta here.”

“...okay.” Maka grabs the handles and pushes. “Ought to get you back to the hospital soon anyway.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t take me back there! I’m going nuts staring at those white walls and boring people!” he complains.

“Yeah, yeah, sure…” she replies as she rolls her eyes. “One more, then I’m taking you back anyway.” She grins a bit evilly. “Not like you can run away from me anyway.”

“You just wait until I’m outta this chair! I’mma pummel you!” he half-yells, half-laughs. Maka can’t stop the smile now, because this is what she’s always admired about Black Star: his unending belief that he can and  _ will _ be better. Better at fighting demon spawn, better at his skills, better from the setbacks life throws at him, better than he was yesterday. Their relentless teasing of each other is a familiar place to return to, knowing that the words spoken are in jest and wrap up veiled threats of friendship and loyalty.

There’s a promise that they will stick together, always friends at the very least.

Maka continues humming to herself, and Black Star drums his fingers on his knee as they find themselves at the edges of the festival. Chimes tinkle in the desert air, and the lonely purple and gold tent catches their eyes. They shrug at each other before rolling over to the stand, taking in the sun-faded letters spelling out ‘CARD EATER’. The incense is cloyingly sweet with a dash of spice, and they step into the curling wisps of smoke wafting out of the entrance.

“Ah, welcome back, Ten and Four of Hearts,” the Card Eater says, looking from Maka to Black Star. “I was hoping to see you both on this night.” They fan the cards out on the small doily covered table, face down, and begin shuffling them in an overly complicated and showy manner. The fortune teller looks up at them, eyes twinkling. “So, who is first?”

Maka and Black Star look at each other, and Black Star digs some coins out of his pocket. Maka beats him to the punch, however. Bills on the table, the Card Eater gestures for her to split the deck three times, pulling a card from each stack.

“The first represents your past, the next your present and the final for the future,” they say as Maka lays the cards out in the indicated array. “Eight of clubs, huh? You were quite the idealist when you were younger… Ah, but of course, your father’s card, the King of Hearts, for the present. How is he faring?” 

Maka stares at the cards, lingering on the King of Hearts. She recalled vaguely that the Card Eater had called him that when they first came into this stall all those years ago. It sends a slight shiver down her spine. She still doesn’t want to believe in the cards, but there is undeniably something eerie about how the last few readings have played out, between the Madness and Crona and this one, regarding her reconciliation with Spirit. Her eyes catch on the last card and the Card Eater says nothing, a knowing smile on their face.

Black Star shifts in his chair next to her and she can almost feel the need to say something rolling off him in waves. She absently traces the lines on the card: the Four of Hearts. The fortune teller’s hand closes over hers lightly, pressing her palm onto the card.

“It stands for loyalty, for found family, a Northern Star to point you home.” The words are quiet, but seem to reverberate around the tent. Maka slowly removes her hand, and the Card Eater gently sweeps the cards back together, repeating their earlier movements to prepare the deck for Black Star’s turn. In the blink of an eye, Black Star’s first two cards are pulled and he holds the last face down without looking at it.

“The Ace of Diamonds for ambition, and for the now, how lovely… the Seven of Hearts. Happiness is certainly found in good friends,” they say, eyes flickering between the two of them. Maka feels flush, a rising heat causing her ears and face to burn. She can’t tell if it is the stuffiness and candles within the stall, but the tip of Black Star’s nose looks a little red as well. “The last card, if you please?”

“Ten of Hearts!” Black Star blurts, still holding the card face down. He looks almost embarrassed for having said it, and Maka certainly feels embarrassed herself at having ‘her’ card called out. That heat in her ears and cheeks bursts into total flame when he thrusts the card out and flips it onto the array. Face caught somewhere between a grin of triumph and wide eyes of shock, he is stockstill when the card falls.

“Ten of Hearts, it is, my dear,” the Card Eater smiles. Maka’s hands feel a bit sweaty on the handles of his wheelchair and Black Star is fairly vibrating in his seat. “Always a bit of unexpected good news with you two.”

A bit unnerved, the pair leave the tent shortly after. Just outside, Black Star tilts his head up at her. He gives her a calculating look before it smooths out into his familiar ‘up-to-no-good’ face. “So… is the unexpected good news that you’re gonna skip taking me back to the hospital tonight?”

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Maka scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Like hell. Where would I put you? I’m certainly not foisting you off on poor Tsubaki, and I’ve got no room for a broken idiot in my apartment.”

“I’m not hearing a no…”

“I should just leave you on the side of the road.”

“C’mon, you know you want to take me home and stay up all night watching bad horror movies! I’ll make waffles in the morning?”

“With what pair of useful hands are you gonna do that?!”

“I’m still not hearing a no…”

“Star!”

Their voices fade into the night and the Card Eater watches fondly from inside. The deck hums in their hands, and the faint tickle of magic and fate whispers through their fingers as they shuffle. Thinking about the pair of technicians that had just visited, they draw one more card, a combined fortune. The Ace of Clubs smiles up at the Card Eater and the fortune teller places it on the table, next to the Ten and Four of Hearts. “A good card for them. Balance, in all things.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this story and have enjoyed soundofez's art even more! Go find it on tumblr and give it some love, the cards are beautiful!  
> Please leave a line to say what your favorite section/line was. :)


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